


For A Moment

by wekingsandprettythings



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Anxiety, Comfort, Depersonalization, Depression, Drinking, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Phan AU, Phanfiction, References to Depression, Strangers to Lovers, Therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-10
Updated: 2017-04-10
Packaged: 2018-10-17 09:43:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10591422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wekingsandprettythings/pseuds/wekingsandprettythings
Summary: Dan has severe anxiety and depersonalization. He hasn't felt happy in years and doesn't remember what a real smile is like. His therapist is trying to help, but to his surprise its a nice boy with blue eyes who is the literal embodiment of the sun that manages to help him feel a tiny bit better.A song fic based off When, Intertwined, and She by Dodie Clark





	

**Author's Note:**

> im not an expert when it comes to anxiety, depression or depersonalization. i do however know that a lot of the feelings expressed in this are things i have gone through, and things i still experience. this is very close to my heart and i appreciate anyone who reads this. if you ever want to talk or share your feelings my ask and messenger on tumblr is always open.  
> www.emilysshook.tumblr.com/ask

He hated clocks.

If he had to pick something to represent how he felt every goddamn day, he’d say he feels like a clock. Always ticking forward. Always having people looking at him, and always asking him questions, expecting him to know what to do with his life. Never slowing down, never taking a break, stuck on a wall watching the world go on. Wishing, hoping, dreaming that one day his hands would pause, if even for a moment, so he could catch his breath, the ticking in his ears would stop, and maybe, just maybe, he’d be happy again.

“When was the last time you were genuinely happy?”

His therapist was a nice happy old woman, her desk was filled with trinkets and photos of happy children and a happy dog. She always wore nice skirts topped with colorful sweaters, she wore her hair in the same bun and her glasses perched on the end of her nose. She wrote with a blue pen, occasionally she’d tap it on the edge of her clip board, sometimes she chews the end of it and when it gets old she reaches into the drawer of her desk and grabs another exactly like it.

When he signed up he imagined his therapist would be a terrible old hag like the one his mother sent him to when he was 17, that she’d have runs in her stocking and lipstick on her teeth. That the only responses she’d have to his life story would be the odd hum or nod. But she wasn’t like that at all.

She sat up straight, looked him in the eyes, asked him nice simple questions to get to know him and eventually she asked why he was there.

“I was 16.” He says.

He’s been seeing her for almost 9 weeks. Every Tuesday and Thursday after class he would travel down to her office, rain or shine. He’d sit in the dimly lit, damp, and depressing waiting room of the school’s student aid building and wait for his appointment.

The receptionist would joke every time that he looked handsome, that his brown eyes matched his brown hair and the black jacket he wore made him look slim. And every time he’d fake a smile, say thank you and think about how much he hates small talk. That if his anxiety didn’t make it so that he felt obligated to be nice to people, he’d wear a sign that said fuck off everywhere and be done with it. 

"Do you want to tell me more about it Dan?” her voice is soft, and it makes him comfortable. She’s nothing like the other people he’s talked to.

He remembers the last day he was happy very clearly. “I took a trip here, to Manchester, with my boyfriend at the time. It was half term and he thought it would be nice to spend the day in a different town. That we’d do something different and fun together.”

A small smile crept its way onto his face. “Why did that make you happy?”

“He was so nice to me that day. We went on the big wheel, we had lunch together, we held hands and laughed and kissed and I felt happy and in love.” But then his smile fades.

“How come this is your last happy memory?”

“Because after that things started to get weird. That day I was there and I was experiencing it and enjoying myself. But slowly over the next month of my relationship with Jeremy, I faded. I felt like I was watching my life go on from the outside and I couldn’t control what happened, like I had no say almost. That my body went and did what it wanted while my brain sat back and did nothing. And I felt so drained and lost. And I still feel this way.”

He has friends, he has good times, he laughs, and he has a good life. But when every things said and done it’s as if he was a ghost, watching a body with golden skin and brown hair and eyes to match, and then the ghost slips into the body at the end of the night to reclaim its place until the next time.

And he goes home to his room, and sits in bed with the lights off, feeling like a battery that’s been sitting in the bottom of a drawer with little to no juice left, wondering what happened, what was wrong with him, and when it was going to get better. When was he going to feel like he did when he was 16? When was he going to feel every smile and laugh displayed a few hours beforehand? And when was he doing to stop wondering when?

“Thank you for opening up so much today Dan. I have a better idea of what you’re like and I think next week we can look further into this.” She smiled and put her clipboard down, she likes to shake hands at the end of the meetings so she stands up to see him to the door.  
-

After therapy on Thursdays he goes to the bar down the road. He doesn’t have class on Fridays so that means he can hook up with another random stranger, pretend to be happy for a few minutes, sometimes hours, and then retreat back to being the same absent minded and lonely boy.

Somehow, even with a blank face and often puffy eyes from his session, he manages to attract some very handsome men. The pickup lines are always the same, “a beautiful guy like yourself shouldn’t have such a sad look on his face.”

Eventually one of the sickly sweet men coax him into a ‘happy’ mood, he fakes a few laughs, touches their shoulders enough times, and ends up leaving to their home. Mouths attached in a rough manner, hands wondering, breaths heavy. The room is dark, they whisper how beautiful and wonderful he his, and soon it’s over. The same emotionless state creeps back onto his face and he gathers his things to leave.

Again, and again, and again this has happened, 9 weeks to be exact. But this time, after his 18th appointment, he encounters someone completely different.

This man exudes happiness. He wears bright t-shirts, his smile is wide, his laugh is loud and deep, and occasionally he tried to cover it with his hands, which are dainty and pale but also very large and strong looking. But his eyes, his bright blue eyes shine down like headlights on the motorway at 3 in the morning.

After watching the man interact with the other strangers in the bar for almost an hour, he comes to sit beside Dan. “Hi. I’m Phil, are you okay?”

“Um, what?” is all he can manage to spit out. In all the days he’s been coming to the bar, and even in all the days he’s been alive, no one has flat out come and asked him if he was okay.

“You haven’t talked to anyone, you haven’t smiled, and you haven’t bopped along to any songs, and I knew something was up because they just played Mr. Brightside and never in my life have I seen someone look as unimpressed as you did while it played.” Phil spoke softly but loud enough to be heard over the music and happy people.

And he was right.  
“Oh. No, I um- I’ve been having a rough day- year- few years actually. And I come here to drink and sleep with people to take the edge off.” 9 weeks of therapy and somehow he tells more to this Phil guy in a minute than he has to his therapist.

“I know how you feel. My friend died a few years ago and I did the same thing.” Somehow he manages to say that with a smile, which leaves Dan shocked and slightly sadder.

“I’m sorry.” Why was this Phil person telling him all this?

“But then I realized that dancing and singing really bad pop songs at the top of my voice was a lot more fun than sticking it in some stranger. Come join me?” Phil reaches a hand out for Dan to grab, and he actually takes it.

For the first time in years, he smiles and he feels it. His heart flutters, and his cheeks get hot and his brain isn’t like mush. Instead it’s there with him, taking it all in and appreciating the moment, because he doesn’t know how many more times he’ll feel this way.

Song after song they sway their hips, and jump to the rhythm, yelling lyrics to popular songs towards each other, and laugh. Occasionally Phil forgets the words and yells some fucked up phrase that is definitely not in the song and Dan laughs at him thinking that his man is somehow the coolest and most amazing creature he’s ever found.

At the end of the night Phil gives Dan his number. “If you’re ever feeling down or out of it give me a text, or if you rather hear someone’s voice you can call me too.” He smiles and pulls Dan in for a hug.

He went to the bar expecting a quick fuck and he ended up getting a hug and feeling more connected to another being because of a damn hug than he ever felt having sex.

-

“So Dan, how are we feeling today?” The same question has been asked in every session Dan attends. And every time he has given the same answer.

“I’ve been better.” It's not a lie, he's seen better days, but none as good as last Thursday. “But I met someone after last week’s session and I had a good time and I was actually there.”

“Was this a sex related thing like the others?” Dan's always been very open with her about what he does. As he should, she's his therapist.

“No. Surprisingly we danced and talked and I went home alone.” He says with a smile and a cheeky nod, very proud of himself.

“Why do you think you were able to be in the moment with him?”

He spent the majority of his night after meeting Phil asking himself the same question. “He reminded me of childhood, and my good memories, and he was the human embodiment of happiness. It shined out of him like he was the sun.”

“Are you going to see him again?” she said, a smile on her face and Dan could tell she was genuinely happy with the progress Dan was making.

“God, I hope so.”

-

To Phil: Hi, it's Dan from the bar the other night. I was wondering if you wanted to hang out sometime.

Dan hit send. Never in all the years of having his anxiety hanging over his head did he think he'd be texting someone first, especially a person he hardly knew. He wasn't anxious about sending it as much and how long it would take to get a reply.

From Phil: Hiya Dan! I’d love to! I just got out of class if you want I can come to your dorm?

To Phil: yeah that would be great! I'm room 21F in building 5

From Phil: I'll be over in a few :)

Dan's room was clean and all his work for the day is done meaning he's perfectly free to hang out, but the idea of seeing Phil is a bit scary. He didn't think this through, there's a weird feeling growing in the pit of his stomach. What if he told Phil he changed his mind, would he be upset? But what could go wrong? The last time he saw Phil it was fun so why wouldn't it be now? And if it got awkward he's sure Phil would leave if he asked and while he panicked over this there was a knock at his door.

“Hi.” Phil said. His smile as wide and bright as the first time Dan saw it. He was wearing glasses this time and he had a light blue sweater on over a white shirt. He looked soft and cute and like he was just studying. And he did say he just got out of class so he probably picked that outfit on purpose. Obviously he did but Dan was overthinking the situation, like normal.

“Come in, I'm really glad you came.”

Phil walked in and looked around. Dan's room was like a prison. The ugly cream painted brick walls drowned out the room and the small window didn't let much light in. Dan had brought his brown sheets from home with him, which didn't help the bland theme he had going on. His desk was cluttered with papers and his old windows laptop was lying on top of them.

“I forgot how shitty the dorms were.” Phil says before sitting on Dan's bed. “And I don't miss these rock hard mattresses.”

“Where do you live?” Dan says before realizing how creepy it must have sounded.

“Cause it’s my last year I got an apartment just down the road and I walk here every day.” He smiles and gestures for Dan to come sit beside him.

His presence in Dan’s room livens it up a bit. It went from being brown and dead to having a beautiful happy glowing flower in it.

“What do you want to do?” He asks Dan.

“I'd like to get to know you, if that's okay. I think you're going to be good for me.” And before he can panic about saying that Phil smiles and puts a hand on his arm.

“I think we're going to be good for each other.” he says. “So, let's get started. I'm Phil Lester, I'm 22 and I'm studying Post Production and Special Effects right now. I hate cheese, my favorite Christmas movie is The Gremlins and I have depression.”

“Oh. I had no idea.” Dan says, a little shocked.

“I know, we're supposed to be getting to know each other so I thought you should know.” when he smiles his eyes almost twinkle.

“Well, I'm Dan Howell, I'm 19, I'm studying Anthropology and World Issues. I love cheese, I had no idea The Gremlins was a Christmas movie, and I suffer from anxiety and depersonalization. And I ponder my existence more than I should which makes everything worse.” Sharing is fun, Dan isn't ashamed to be telling Phil this. And if Phil did have a problem with it, he wouldn't have come after seeing how unhappy Dan was in the bar that one night.

The two of them talk for hours. Eventually they go from being sat beside each other to lying on Dan's twin size bed together. Two 6 foot tall men, pressed tightly together, staring at the ceiling, talking about life, the inevitability of death, and the fact that they are going to be really good friends.

“It’s getting late. You can stay if you don't want to walk home in the dark.” Dan says. Phil's warm arm is pressed to his and it’s calming. He secretly doesn't want him to leave.

“Or, we could walk back to my place together and have a sleepover there because I have a bigger bed.” Phil suggests. They start to laugh, Dan hasn't had a sleepover since he was 11. Not since he came out and his parents didn't want anyone alone with him in his room.

“That sounds more fun. Let me grab some things.” Dan says and makes a move to get up before realizing he's trapped and he'll have to roll over Phil to get off the bed.

A few “I'm sorry”s “ooph”s and giggles are let out as Dan tries to get up. Once he lands his feet on the floor and stands straight up he makes his way to his dresser.

He grabs a pair of PJ bottoms, a shirt for tomorrow, socks, underwear and his toothbrush. He throws them in his book bag, grabs his keys and his new best friend and heads out the door.

It's a spring night, so it's not too cold but it's also not warm enough to be in just a long sleeve shirt. He shivers a little but then Phil wraps his arm around him and everything is fine.

Phil's apartment is only 5 minutes up the road. The building is huge, there is a well-lit fountain out front and Phil tells him that it's a misty death trap so he should run. Before Dan can process what's been said Phil's running and Dan's trying to catch up.

Phil lives on the 15th floor in a small 1 bedroom flat all by himself. There's stuffed toys and a bright red beanbag chair on the floor, his kitchen isn't clean and a few cupboard doors are left open. But it's quirky like his personality.

His bedroom is also small, Dan places his backpack on the ground and looks around more.

“If you want to change the bathroom is right there. I'm going to put my PJs on.” And Phil starts to unzip his sweater.

Dan picks up his backpack once again and goes to the bathroom. Taking the hint that Phil wanted to change.

He takes a minute to look in the mirror once his PJs are on. He brushes his teeth like he does every night before bed, and stares at his reflection.

For once he sees himself, his eyes are a golden brown, and his skin looks soft and a bit rosy around his cheeks from walking. He smiles remembering their closeness on the walk. He has a dimple that comes through. He's happy.

He enters the room again, Phil's on the same side of the bed he was on when they were at Dan's. He walks over to the right side of the bed and crawls in.

“I haven't had a sleepover in years.” He says, throwing the bright green and blue checkered covers over himself and sliding down to be more comfortable.

“Same here. It's nice.” Phil turns to be completely on his side like Dan is so they can face each other. He smiles over to Dan.

“Talk to me. How are you feeling?” Phil asks. His face so close that Dan can feel his hot breath.

“I'm afraid that I'm going to tell you too much about myself and you're going to run off.” Dan says in one quick breath.

And with that Phil wraps an arm around him and pulls him in close. Dan's head now resting on Phil's chest.

“I'm not going to do that. I know what it's like to so desperately need a friend and I would never want to make you feel like you had no one.”

Dan can't believe it. How did he find an amazing person to be his friend and how was it that this guy liked having Dan as a friend? Dan's never had someone want him to be a friend, it's always been the other way around.

“Thank you.”

-

“Have you seen him since Tuesday?” His therapist starts the session with a different question, and it might be due to the fact Dan came in smiling.

“Yeah I was with him last night. We had a sleepover. No sex, just getting to know each other. I found out that he has depression and he thinks we’ll be good for each other. That this friendship will be a good thing.” Dan hopes it will, he hopes he gets more nights just talking to Phil, that he gets more conversations and more memories and more smiles. Because he needs them.

“Does he know what you suffer with?” she asks. Jotting down what Dan probably just told her.

“Yeah. I told him and we discussed things, similar to how I talk to you. He’s really good at it.” She take a minute to look up at him, which throws Dan off a little.

“What’s his name?”

“Phil Lester”

“Do you think Phil will be good for you?” She asks, almost defensive.

“I do, I think with both of us knowing hurt and sadness we will know how to care for one another and how to be supportive. I know that when I hurt it sucks and I don’t want to see him like that. And he is kindhearted so he most likely feels the same way.”

“I don’t want you to depend on him though. You need to find happiness in yourself, because if you lose him this journey we’ve been on will come full circle and I don’t think you’ll want to start this again.”

She makes a good point. Like always, she’s highly educated and has seen a number of patients with far more pressing problems than Dan’s. He trusts her but he also trusts his heart and knows that whatever he has with Phil will be a good thing, and that it has the potential to last a very long time. Even if he’s only known him for a few days.

-

Dan spends hours alone in his room. Overthinking and worrying that Phil could leave him. The therapy sessions always have this effect on him. He can bring up a good things and have it turned to shit in no time.

Phil leaving wouldn’t be the worst thing, sure he’d forget what smiling is like again but then another Phil could come along and make him smile till that Phil leaves and the cycle could be never ending.

That’s life really. A never ending cycle of short lived happiness followed by a crippling sadness. It’s all Dan’s even known and he’s not expecting for it to change anytime soon.

But now the bed is cold, his toes are like icicles, his brain on low power mode and his eyes are unable to close. The moon is full and shining through the opaque beige curtains, illuminating the ceiling and giving Dan something to stare at. It’s plain and white, there’s the odd bumps and mark, unlike the bumpy stucco ceiling in Dan’s childhood bedroom that he’s gotten so well acquainted with. 

He knows where every bump is in his parents place and why it’s there. His house is old and sagging, one corner has caved in and another has a watermark. There’s purple dots on one side from when he accidentally made a Crayola marker explode when he was 8. And then there is a big black streak by the top of the door frame where his little brother let go of a baseball bat mid swing. Its nights like this where he missed his room.

He misses him mum and the way she woke him up in the morning, she’d knock on his door, pat him on the back and lightly tell him to wake up. She’d make him a bowl of cereal and ask if he was okay. Give him a hug if he needed one and kiss him on the head. Why he picked a university so far from her, he has no idea. But in the back of his head maybe it was because he was chasing a happy memory.

And maybe that was a good thing. Because he lost one good thing but gained another. No matter how much he pondered it, all he could think was how great Phil is. How his smile made him feel, how his words made him feel, and how just his presence made him feel.

He was soothing and calming and wonderful. And sure it was bad to place all his hopes and happiness on another person, he was willing to do it if it meant he would stay happy for a little while longer.

And then his phone lit up across the room. Probably just to say it was at full charge, but them it lit up again, and a third time. Dan huffed and got out of bed.

From Phil: are you up?

From Phil: you never texted after therapy like you said you would

From Phil: I just really hope you’re okay

This is why he’s going to be good for Dan. Only his mother ever texted him to see if he was okay. No friend had ever genuinely cared about his well being or gone out of their way to check on him. Phil was different, a good different and the type of different that Dan needed.

To Phil: I’m sorry, it was a rough session.

To Phil: but I’m feeling better now thank you

From Phil: want me to come over?

To Phil: I’d rather come to yours. Meet me halfway?

From Phil: I’ll see you in a few

-

Dan wasn’t going to make the mistake of not bringing a sweater again, he grabbed the fluffiest one he could and his backpack of things. Not having classes on Friday we're going to be a blessing because that meant more time with Phil.

He turned the corner at the halfway point between his place and Phil’s and there he is, a smile on his face, happily waiting for Dan. As Dan gets closer, Phil reaches his arms out to hug him. Dan doesn’t hesitate and buries his face in Phil’s chest, he has to bend a little, being the slightest bit taller than Phil. But it’s worth it.

The warmth in Phil’s chest and the smell on his neck are enough to change Dan’s whole night. A hug for someone who’s sad is like a hit for a drug addict. The warmth of someone else radiates through you and livens up the body. Your heart beats a bit faster, your skin turns a nicer pink, and the endorphin's that take over your body are basically like crack.

“Let’s go home.” Phil suggests and takes Dan’s arm in his.

Home. That’s what he’s like. He smells like fresh laundry on the line on a Sunday. He’s warm like eating homemade soup on a cold day. He’s soft like a new fluffy duvet. He means everything to him.

His bed is becoming Dan’s new favorite place. He never thought he’d be happy in a bed that wasn’t his. The beds he’s been in have only been quick visits, never a place he wanted to return. 

The contrast between the cold loneliness he felt in his bed compared to the heat of skin touching skin and his cold toes resting comfortably on Phil’s legs is amazing.

“The terms almost over. What are you going to do?” Phil asks, his head on top of Dan's, the breath between words making his hair move.

“I was going to go home to Wokingham. But now I don’t want to leave.” Telling the truth and not being nervous of the outcome wasn’t something Dan was used to but it was nice to be at that point already with Phil.

“Move in here with me. And we can both get jobs and be completely happy.” He says while tracing his fingers up and down Dan's back.

“I’ll think about it.” Dan says, a cheeky smile creeping in and Phil can most likely feel it against his chest.

“Oh, okay.” Phil replies.

“I thought about it, and sure.” He leans up and looks in Phil’s eyes.

“Good.” He says before moving a hand to rest on Dan’s cheek and leaning in further himself.

Phil presses his nose to Dan’s, and slowly presses their lips together.

Phil’s lips are soft like silk. The pressure of the kiss is light at first, then each of them breathing in and then pressing in a little deeper.

-  
“How are you today?” His therapist asks, for the 23rd time.

“I’m okay.” His answer different for the first time ever. “I’m not perfect but I’m working at it.”

“How are things with Phil?”

“Good. We kissed and I think I am going to live with him after the term ends.”

“Do you feel safe with him?”

“I really do.”

-

Dan makes his way right to Phil’s after therapy, he has no idea how he got there but he did. His whole session was quite a blur. He remembers talking about Phil, he remembers saying he was safe and subconsciously his body much have thought to go to him to continue to feel safe.

Phil knows there’s something wrong. Dan comes in and sits on the couch, tucks his knees into his chest and places his chin upon them. His arms wrap his knees for comfort and he sits there. His mind is staticy, jumbled and rumbling. Like the start of a thunderstorm or the inside of a tornado.

On their first night together Dan explained that this sometime happened, and that in the odd chance it happened in front of him he could help. He explained that sitting by him would help him feel safe. That a soft touch would help him remember he is there, and that the slightest bit of talking could bring him to a small sense of reality.

So that’s what he did, Phil sat there beside him. He told him about his day, explained what he learned in class, and lightly rubbed circles onto Dan’s side with his forefinger.

“And so I was just sitting in class with my headphones on minding my business and doing my work when this kid comes up to me asking what we’re doing. So I explain, each of us got the same movie all in different pieces and we had to somehow make it look good and tell the plot, but only with what we were given. It was simple really and-“

Dan cuts him off. “What was the movie about?” he says, still staring off at the window.

Phil smiles. “It’s a horror film with this old man named Peter, apparently he does shows for the BBC but this movie was so bad they gave it to us students to learn. I think I did a good job making it look half interesting.”

Phil explains more of how he edited it and does a dramatic “x-factor” voice as he calls it, while telling the plot. He sits there for hours talking and making him feel calm before he convinces him they should try to eat and get some sleep.

Dan doesn’t remember dinner, he doesn’t remember changing and crawling into bed, he doesn’t remember how it got to being 8 am or how long he’s been staring at the clock on Phil’s wall.

But he does feel the warmth of Phil’s hand on his back, he feels his chest move up and down, he hears the occasional snore and grind of teeth. And he remembers he’s safe, and he’s real, and happiness is a thing that comes and goes and comes back again sometimes.

But that fucking clock on the wall has to go. Lightly he gets up from Phil’s bed, making sure not to wake the man and walks to the corner of the room. The clock is lightly hung up on a tack, he lifts it from the wall, flips it over and removes the batteries so the blessed ticking stops.

“Hey, are you okay?” Phil’s voice is groggy as he sits up and rubs his eyes, the little bit of light shining in is too much for him.

“I hate clocks. The ticking sets me off. I hope you don’t mind.” Dan says before rejoining Phil under the checkered covers once more.

“I don’t mind at all. How are you feeling?” his voice sincere and calm.

“Sad, upset, mad. I hate when that happens. I don’t like being vulnerable, I don’t like not remembering and I don’t like that now I feel like you did too much for me when I know I would do the same for you.”

They’re sitting across from each other, looking at each other in the dimply lit room. Phil’s face illuminated by the light while Dan’s is hidden in shadows. It’s a perfect representation on the atmosphere. Dan is a shadow, while Phil is the light.

“I used to have this friend. But he wasn’t just my friend, he was my lover.” Phil starts. But stops to grab Dan’s hand for support. Flipping it palm side up and tracing his fingers over it.

“And he was ashamed to tell people we were together so he’d come and sleep with me and spend time with me only when we were alone and he knew no one would find out. But then some people did, and they were accepting and he thought he was safe.” As Phil tells the story the light moves, slowly as a cloud passes the window and the shadow that was once Dan is engulfing Phil. 

“But then something inside him switched, and he started to hate himself and the life he lead and the secrets he kept, and one day I came back to his dorm and I found him in the bathroom on the floor, a bottle of sleeping pills that were prescribed to his roommate beside him and his body had gone cold.” He stops to let a tear fall down his face, to which Dan wiped from his chin.

“I thought it was my fault for so long and that I couldn’t help him and that’s why he did it. And I’m so terribly afraid that I’ll try my hardest to help you and I’ll still fail and I’ll never be able to find someone to love.

“I’ll never feel like I’m doing too much for you. I’ll often feel like I’m doing too little. It’s how I feel in every aspect of my life. That I’m not good enough, I’m not trying enough and I’m not helping enough. But I see what I managed to do for you today and I’m happy with that. You make me happy, and I want to always be happy with you.”

“I love you Phil.” Dan said as they shuffled back into a comfortable position, this time Phil’s head on Dan’s chest for support.

“I love you too.”

He still hated clocks.

If he had to pick something to represent how he felt that day, he’d say he felt like a clock. Not the typical analytic wall clock, but maybe a digital clock. With a bright face showing the time, illuminating a room at night, with an alarm set for the next day. Because he was excited for the next day, for the first time in forever.

He was excited to spend his time with Phil, and sure the ticking sucked, and sure he didn’t like being looked at, but he served a purpose, if even for a moment. His purpose was to love and be loved. That’s what life's about. Maybe sometimes he’ll forget that, and maybe his light will go out for a while, but then he’ll look to the cute ball of energy lying on his chest in the shape of a man with soft skin, inviting blue eyes, and a warm heart, and become recharged. Ready to conquer the day, still sad, still pondering when, but having an idea was almost as good as having an answer.


End file.
